


Sink In To It

by prosceniumarch



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: ...or is it?, Getting Together, M/M, Secret Relationship, alcohol as a plot device, ot3: ryan/shane/a really comfy armchair, spoiler: it's not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 19:56:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15956414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosceniumarch/pseuds/prosceniumarch
Summary: To begin with, it just went without saying: this is between us. Not quite a secret, but not something they were eager to share either.The issue with this was that they’d never really had a secret in the first place.OR:Shane and Ryan: Buzzfeed's worst kept secret.





	Sink In To It

**Author's Note:**

> is it really an unsolved fic if the author doesn't say "wow i can't believe i'm writing rpf" because.... i can't believe i'm writing rpf.
> 
> anyway! this is my first unsovled fic and i've really, really enjoyed getting to know these characters and this fandom. i hope i've done them justice! enjoy! any and all feedback will warm me from my head to my toes, thank you!!! and thanks for reading! ❤️
> 
> oh also: this fic is a loose 5 + 1 fic (3 + 1 because your author is laaaazy) and will update... soon? my life is about to get very hectic so I thought I’d post the first bit as a bit of an incentive to keep going.

To begin with, it just went without saying: this is between us. Not quite a secret, but not something they were eager to share either.

This was because Ryan was a logical kind of guy and because there were a lot of benign reasons to keep things quiet. Mainly, it was because things were new and still uncertain between them. For one, there were many difficult things that were still to be discussed, and the way their Thing had started hadn’t leant its way to any hard talks like that. In fact, it hadn’t really lead to any conversation at all, let alone a conversation where someone could say “what are we?” and not be eaten alive.

Plus, for the moment, Ryan didn’t need an answer to that question. For the time being, they were just having fun. Very little had actually changed between them; they were still friends first and foremost, except when they hung out now sometimes clothing was optional. Ryan thought that it felt very much like a natural progression in their friendship.

See, he’d always thought that Shane was attractive – when they’d first met it had been a passing observation, but as they’d gotten to know each other it had been something that he’d noticed more and more. Sometimes at work Ryan would glance over, and Shane would be smiling, or laughing, or even – or even just _typing_ , or scrolling on his phone or _something_ , and Ryan would think ‘ _oh’_ and then suddenly he’d been staring for an inappropriate length of time. Sometimes, Shane would catch him and raise an eyebrow like he thought Ryan was the weirdest dude on Earth, except Ryan would catch him looking sometimes, too.

So, a natural progression. Except, without labels, at least for now. Ryan was fine with this. Shane appeared absolutely fine with it too. Therefore, it was for the best if these things remained behind closed doors, just until someone finally got around to asking, “what are we?”

 

 

\--

 

 

The issue with this was that they’d never really had a secret in the first place.

 

 

\--

 

 

See, it started like this:

It was Shane’s 31st birthday, and the office had gone out to celebrate. In Buzzfeed terms, that meant that the office had gone out to get Shane _drunk_ , and Ryan could tell that Shane had taken the challenge particularly to heart.

He could tell for many reasons:

  1. He had personally watched Shane down five shots with Jen (actually, Ryan had gone to the toilet between shots #4 and #5, so, alarmingly, there may have been more) (there may have been many, many more) (Ryan didn’t like to think about that);
  2. Shane had major drunk eyes, and had already taken to staggering rather than walking and slurring rather than speaking;
  3. Shane was also doing that thing he did after a few drinks where he lost any common sense, any volume control, or any sense of danger that he may have had in normal, sober life (sometimes it seemed as if he had so little to begin with that Ryan wondered how Shane ever managed to survive past drink number one);
  4. Lastly, Shane was currently draped over him, in bridal position, in an armchair that was designed for much less person than the combined mass of Shane-and-Ryan.



They’d ended up in this position because Ryan had intervened after someone offered Shane his sixth shot. Call him a buzzkill, but friends don’t let their friends drink themselves to kidney failure. Ryan had tried to placate Shane’s grumbling by explaining this while he dragged them to a quiet section of the bar where he would initiate _mission_ : _get Shane to drink something that isn’t alcohol._ Shane wasn’t having any of it, however, but he did drink some of the water Ryan offered him after some convincing.

 ~~After waterboarding~~ After forcing Shane to finish the water, a series of things happened that both he and Shane remember _very_ differently. (Ryan will swear until his dying breath that he did not pat his knees at Shane like he was trying to summon a dog onto his lap. Shane will swear that he _did_ in a tone that suggests that he’s trying to have Ryan on, but he also vehemently denies that sitting on Ryan’s lap was his idea so Ryan just isn’t sure.) What they _do_ both remember correctly, however, is that whatever happened culminated in them sharing the armchair. Shane had ended up in Ryan’s lap, bridal style, because of course he had: Shane was the human embodiment of a spindle, and also drunk. There was simply no other way he was ever sitting down, especially on that chair. ~~~~

The armchair in question was a worn, velvet monstrosity so old that together they’d sunk into it like it was made of melting butter. Ryan had briefly considered complaining about his position before he’d ultimately decided it would probably be more hassle than it was worth; he was about half a foot deep in the upholstery with Shane’s bony ass pinning him in position – the amount of struggling it would have taken to get them both upright again was preposterous. Plus… Well, plus, he sorta liked that ass, really, or at least the person attached to it. And he supposed he was kinda comfy, at least in a way…

Ryan blinked, trying to ground himself in thoughts that weren’t _hey, I actually kinda, sorta, maybe like that ass,_ and realised that Shane had been talking.

In fact, Shane had been slurring his way through a whole-ass _story_ that Ryan had completely missed by _thinking about his ass_. **_Stop_** _thinking about his ass_. _It’s not even that great of an ass,_ he tried to remind himself. _It’s too bony. I’m **not** into bony asses. Especially not Shane’s._

Ryan tried to focus again and, God, Shane was still speaking. Ryan had to remind himself, again, that no thoughts of his best friend’s derriere were permitted while said derriere was firmly planted in his lap. His brain was a pure thought only zone. A derriere free zone.

Shane continued to soliloquise and, finally, Ryan found himself listening even though he’d missed most of the set-up. That meant nothing, anyway: drunk Shane had a habit of meandering away from his point in a way that made all of the stories he’d tell after a couple of drinks winding, Kafkaesque epics with nothing that even resembled a plot or an ending.

Ryan supposed he didn’t care too much about that. He’d known Shane for long enough that he’d come to accept it as one of Shane’s many infuriating but endearing quirks. Plus, Shane was utterly captivating when he was like this: flushed pink from the booze, lips pink-stained and slick. Ryan could feel himself making heart eyes, but he couldn’t figure out how to put them away.

Eventually, it was just a little too much. “Dude.” Ryan said, finally interrupting the third plot deviation Shane had managed in as many minutes. “What the _fuck_ are you talking about?”

Shane blinked owlishly at him. “I dunno, man.” He confessed. “I’m really drunk.”

“Duh.” Ryan replied, trying to sound exasperated but ruining it because Shane just looked so fucking funny when he was drunk. And also lovely, though Ryan thought that all the time, so it didn’t really count.

“Why do you never sound drunk?” Shane grumbled, scooching impossibly closer. Their noses almost touched. Ryan’s heart stopped, just for a second, before Shane shuffled again, and Ryan realised he was simply trying to renegotiate a comfortable position for his legs. “It makes me look like an ass.”

Ryan’s laugh was a nervous, shrill little thing. Of course Shane wasn’t squaring up to kiss him. Of course. He was just shuffling around because he was currently sharing an armchair with another fully-grown man.

“I don’t sound drunk because I have _tolerance_. I’m not drunk.” Ryan lied. The way he leant closer into Shane, however, suggested otherwise. After all, he was just a man, and Shane was literally _right there_. Ryan really was drunk despite his protests, and he had a crush. He could cope with one of these things at a time, but together they made it a little too much to bear; he hadn’t had a rational thought since they’d fallen into the armchair together

“Not drunk.” Shane scoffed. “Sure thing, Ryan.”

Ryan blushed and leant his head against the chair’s backrest, right next to Shane’s. “Not _that_ drunk.” He corrected.

Ryan had expected Shane to laugh at him, or to swat him away, but. Shane didn’t say _anything_ at all, or even move to pull away. Instead, he’d gone all wide-eyed and pink. His mouth was slightly open, like he’d been about to say something and lost track of the words.

Ryan almost thought of teasing Shane for it; for such a big, tall guy, he sure didn’t know his own limits. And, damn, it wasn’t like he hadn’t had the practice either, the old man.

But then he just – stopped. Because it was his turn to gape.

Because… because Ryan realised he _knew_ that look. Ryan knew that look because he’d felt it on his own face more times than he could even count. He’d watched that look blossom on his face on video, and then watched himself try to carefully erase it. He’d spent months trying to practice wiping his face of it, practicing turning away so Shane couldn’t see the way he stared at him with unabashed adoration. That look was the way he looked at Shane. It was the way he’d never really thought Shane would look back at him, not properly.

Something in Ryan just _clicked_. He been _wrong_ about this. All this time he’d spent convincing himself that he was alone in this – in being a little bit stupid for his best friend – and all this time he’d been wrong. He’d spent all this time trying to prove that all those little moments he shared with Shane were a figment of his imagination, and he’d been _wrong_. It felt like his heart was about to burst through his ribcage.

Ryan took a deep, steadying breath in and wet his lips. He watched the way Shane tracked the movement of his tongue and thought _alright_ , _okay. This is happening. This is really happening._ “Shane.” He said.

“Ryan.” Shane echoed. It was Ryan’s turn to watch his mouth, tracking the way his lips moved around his name, captivated. Shane’s face was so close.

Ryan swallowed, incensed by the way Shane was looking at him like they were both thinking the same thing. “Are you going to kiss me?” He asked.

For a moment Shane said nothing. Ryan had a second to be smug about rendering him speechless, and then Shane leaned in and he was speechless too.

 

 

\--

  

The thing was: their "quiet section of the bar" where all of this happened was still at a bar where their colleagues were also drinking.

One hell of a secret, huh?


End file.
